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A soft moan came from the back of her throat and the rigid shaft in his jeans swelled more fully from the small sound she made.
The primal lust that consumed him put him on edge and his voice was sharper than he intended, "Emma!"
Her eyes flew open and she jerked in her chair when she came suddenly awake and saw him looming over her. Recognition was slow in coming and he saw the panic and fear that shone from her eyes as she whimpered.
"Shh, it's me. It's all right, you're safe," he soothed at the same time trying to tamp down the arousal sliding insidiously through his body.
He needed to get her fed and into bed.
Into her bed, alone.
Emma came fully awake as she recognized the man in front of her. Her muddled brain tried to understand the differences she saw in him. Anxiety heightened her senses as she took in his pointed gaze, the ropes of tension bracketing his mouth and his strong legs braced apart as if prepared to ward off an attack. But that made little sense.
A wave of apprehension burned through her and she had to physically get a hold of herself. He was the same person. Demanding and arrogant, yes. But the same person. He wasn't going to hurt her. If his intent was to hurt her, he would have done so already.
She studied him as she tried to understand the changes in his demeanor.
"What's wrong?" she questioned him in a voice husky from interrupted sleep.
"Nothing's wrong," he bit out as he turned to pick up the plate and put it on her lap.
Emma reached out to steady the plate and jumped when her hand brushed his against her thigh. It was ridiculous to jump, she knew. It wasn't as if she was naked. She had on a dress and two petticoats. But still, the brush of his hand against her was like a streak of fire running through her.
Her eyes flew to his and were ensnared by the heated look in his eyes. His nostrils flared as he lifted away from her and stood back to his full height.
"Luke, I--"
Luke felt her voice hit him on another wave of arousal. She had to choose this moment to spontaneously call him by his first name?
He cut her off. "Eat."
She licked her lips and glanced down at what he had placed in front of her. The bread was yeasty and fresh and the cheese was a warm yellow color that made her mouth start watering. She hadn't eaten since early that morning. And that had only been a hurried snack while on the road.
Luke watched her as she picked up the sandwich and with greedy little bites silently devoured the simple meal. He stood in front of her until she had finished every scrap and then handed her the milk.
She drank half the milk down and rested the glass lightly against the chair and slowly lifted her eyes to his.
"Finish it."
Dismay spiked through her at his tone. "Finish the milk?"
"Yes," his answer was succinct.
"I can't right now."
"Yeah, you can."
Alarmed at his possible intent, panic filled her. Being told to eat or drink something when she was full or when she absolutely couldn't stand the taste was one of her biggest fears. It was ridiculous, she knew. But for two miserable years in the orphanage, she and the other children had been terrorized by a controlling matron who took pleasure from forced consumption.
The knot of panic in her throat grew and she knew she wouldn't be able to get down another drop.
She trembled and reminded herself that she was an adult; he couldn't make her do anything she didn't want to do.
At her continued silence, he spoke. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
She ignored the question and tried to move past the conflict. "I'll just take it to bed with me, I'm tired. Can you show me where I'll sleep?"
"Finish it now and then I'll get you settled."
Luke was shocked when his reasonable request was met with a negative shake of her head and a glimmer of tears in her eyes.
Tears? What the hell had set her off now?
He reached out and took the glass from her hand when he saw it was in immediate danger of spilling. Her hand was shaking uncontrollably; he needed to find out what was making her panic all of a sudden. Did she think going to bed meant she was in danger from him? The idea that she thought he couldn't be trusted put a black frown between his brows.
The moment the milk was taken from her and pushed to the side, the subtle quaking of her body subsided somewhat.
"You all right?"
"Yes."
She looked better now. The color was coming back to her cheeks and the trembling had subsided. Now to get her settled and away from him. He needed some damn peace tonight and wasn't going to get it as long as she was in his radius.
"You sure you had enough?"
There was that glimmer of tears again.
"Please, Luke, don't make me drink it. I can't. I'm so full." Her expression beseeched his.
"Make you drink it?" The roar came from his diaphragm and as he blasted the question out her head jerked back and hit the back of the rocking chair.
She was silent and he continued. "Where the hell would you get the idea I'd make you drink it? Why would I make you drink it?"
She shook her head back and forth as she tried to answer him. "You told me to finish it." Her eyes dropped from his. "And I thought you meant it."
Luke looked at her bent head and searched for the answer to what the actual problem was. "I did mean it. But I'm not going to force it down your throat. Jesus. I'm just worried about you, that's all. I'm assuming you haven't eaten all day, or even had much to drink. I don't want your health to suffer."
Emma couldn't believe she'd misunderstood the situation so completely. It was definitely going to take her a while to learn how to read this man. His tone brooked no refusal, but evidently, she could refuse him and walk away unscathed. Couldn't she?
"I'm sorry. I misunderstood, that's all. I know we don't know each other, but I have a small phobia about being told how much to consume."
He studied her and the look of anger on his face wasn't directed at her.
"The orphanage?" He questioned in a menacing tone.
She understood what he was asking her. "Yes."
He nodded his head in quick understanding and reached out and lifted one of her hands and helped her to her feet.
His hand moved to her chin and he lifted it and stared down into her eyes. "You're right. We
don't know each other. But know this about me now. I'll never force you to eat or drink anything you don't want. I'll never force you to do anything. I'm a harsh man. I know that. My words are sometimes sharp, but ask Maria tomorrow morning when you meet her, I'm nothing but a pushover."
Chapter Three
"He said what, Senorita?" Maria turned and completely abandoned her task of washing the breakfast dishes and stared askance at Emma.
"He said he was a pushover. Was he telling me the truth?"
While Emma took in the stunned look on the other woman's face, she looked around the kitchen in the light of day.
The room was far more comfortable than she would have imagined a kitchen on a ranch in Colorado could have been.
A large stove was at the center of the workplace and it vented to the outside. A water pump directly in the kitchen was a convenience she hadn't imagined she'd find. The table was huge, big enough to seat ten or twelve she expected, and the chairs were sturdy and strong. Blue and white decorated china graced the cabinets that were fronted by real glass doors, and the flatware she stood fingering was real silver.
It was a beautiful room, with a hominess that was enhanced by curtains and herbs that grew in containers on the windowsill.
When Luke had escorted her to her room the previous evening, he hadn't taken the time to show her the rest of the house. He had shown her where he slept in case she needed him, where to take care of her more personal needs in the middle of the night, and then told her goodnight as swiftly as he could.
She slept through the night, probably from pure exhaustion, and this morning she saw the room she had been given for the first time. She slept in a sturdy four-poster bed with a comfortable feather mattress, and a colorful, quilted coverlet. The furnishings in the rest of the room matched the bedstead; they were carved from a deep mahogany wood and embellished with intricate, detailed designs. There was a dresser with a mirror, and a small, feminine writing desk and chair to match.
The room was lovely and unlike any she'd ever been in other than the one time she had stayed in a hotel for a few days in St. Louis.
